Their last thoughts
by Syrene-T
Summary: Three dwarves fell during the final battle. And not the least among them. Here's the story of their last moments and their final thoughts. HUGE SPOILERS!
1. Fili

**This is my way of paying tribute to those who fell. But be careful, the three chapters of this fanfiction are one huge spoiler of the last movie!**

**If you've already watched it, you know ****the order of events****. I've filled the gaps and added the characters' thoughts.**

**(I've obviously written this from memory. I hope you won't mind if there are some omissions and mistakes). **

**This fanfic was first written in French under the title **_**Leurs dernières pensées**_**. Once again thank you to TITVAN for her proofreading and translation work.**

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**Chapter ****1**: **Fili**

Silent as a shadow, Fili was moving slowly in the dark corridor of the dilapidated tower. A half-smile appeared on his face in the dark; it was only addressed to himself, as he was thinking he could not help – let us say it was an old habit – keeping Kili away by sending him to explore the lower levels, on the opposite side of where they had both heard noise.

It was absurd, the situation was not only serious but also bad, yet the young warrior almost started laughing: he had so long kept applying the only words spoken by his father that he could remember of! On Kili's birth, Fili could not help feeling jealous, like many other children. He felt rejected, less loved by his parents who, it seemed to him, were only paying attention to the newcomer. His father had noticed this and sat him on his lap:

"You'll always be the first, Fili", he told him. "You're the eldest, our first son, and if your uncle has no direct descendent, you'll be his heir. Never forget! Do not think we love you less, it's just that a baby needs a lot of care and attention. Do you understand?"

Not really convinced, the child had simply pouted. Understanding his state of mind, Skalli took his son's blonde head between his hands, and looking at him gravely he had entrusted him with this mission which would give him a new importance and a role in their life together:

"Fili, as the eldest brother you have to watch over Kili. To protect him. There'll be many things that you must teach him yourself. He's going to need you, my boy. And when he's a little older, you'll discover that having a brother... well... it's a great thing!"

It had calmed down the child, who had felt very proud to be entrusted with such an important task. And of course, his father's words had proved correct: to have a brother, that was something!

However – and in the dark Fili had a little grimace – time had passed and if the habit remained, he had to admit it was no longer necessary. Kili was not only an adult but also a warrior, and not the least! He did not need to be watched over anymore.

He was even adult enough to be thinking about starting a family... For a brief moment, the memory of the red-haired elf was reminded to Fili, who pursed his lips. Although she was an elf he was grateful to her for having saved his younger brother's life; without her he would have died as a result of the wound in his thigh, and under how much suffering? But Fili was wise enough to understand that this impossible love could only cause pain and grief to both of them. Well, anyway, this was hardly the time to think about it...

As if to confirm his thought, a bright light appeared at the end of the corridor. Ahem... Fili moved back cautiously, looking for a hiding place. He wanted to see how many of his enemies were there before going to inform Thorïn. But as he was slipping backwards in a wall recess, which actually proved to be a narrow staircase, another light was suddenly lit below. His heart beating fast, the young dwarf then turned back in the direction he had come from, still hoping to have time to retreat before being seen. Except that a third torch was lit there...

"A trap! It was a trap..."

And he had gone straight into it! Fili's hands may have become sweaty under his gloves, but it did not stop him from unsheathing his second sword and leaning against the wall to cover his backside. His brain worked at full speed. Kili certainly would hear the sound of the coming battle. Fili hoped that he would not have the silly idea to come to his help alone and would go straight to find the others, instead! If he could hold long enough, then all three of them would come to his rescue, Thorïn, Kili and Dwalïn, and the four of them would wipe this vermin out!

However, the young warrior only had to see the orcs appear suddenly to realize that things would not go as planned. They were far too numerous and were surrounding him on all sides. Then he heard a voice, which contained a world of threats:

"Take him alive! This is one of those vile Durïn offspring!"

Azog.

Fili had barely got a glimpse of him in the Misty Mountains, before the eagles had saved the Company at the last minute, and he had heard his voice only once but he knew for sure that it was him. A cold sweat trickled down his back. Yet at the same time he felt anger rising in him – there stood the murderer of his great-grandfather, Thorïn's mortal enemy, the creature who had sworn to exterminate his whole family. Nothing to lose, Fili fiercely rushed at his enemies, asking only to fight and kill as many of them as possible before dying. Unfortunately, the orcs definitely had the advantage.

One of his swords was torn from him, along with his cut-off forefinger! Ignoring his blood that gushed jerkily, Fili grabbed the only weapon he had left with both hands and rushed at his enemies with renewed fury. But not for long though – a mass fell on his shoulders and he collapsed, flat on the ground. The boy had not let go of his sword but Azog was crushing his hand with his heel, throwing all his weight on it until the fingers opened despite them. However, Fili's other hand – his injured hand – was already traveling back up along his side, pulling out a dagger from its hiding place before hitting on guesswork the orc that was weighing upon his back and shoulders. A cry of pain told him that he had hit his opponent but unfortunately it did not change anything because his enemies were already seizing him and were pulling him back on his feet, brutally.

"Disarm him!"

The search was quite brief, but it did not prevent most of his weapons from being removed, before a remarkable couple of slaps stunned him, making his ears ring!

'This is just a foretaste!" Azog hissed.

With that, he vigorously seized his captive by the collar and literally dragged him through the corridors. Fili struggled to keep his balance but he stumbled. The pale orc was holding him firmly, and was nevertheless continuing to move forward, quickening his stride as he advanced, preventing the boy from getting back on his feet.

"Oakenshield will enjoy that!" the albino growled with obvious glee. "I'll be glad to show him that despite his claims, the line of Durïn's doomed to die! And he's going to witness it!"

In a flash, Fili understood the monster's intentions. He tried to struggle, in vain; Azog was almost running now, and his henchmen, who were following him closely, were watching his every move. The young prince realized that his time was close. A thousand tumultuous thoughts flashed through his mind: Kili, Thorïn, his companions, his mother, even, and then the Blue Mountains, where he grew up. Before him, he suddenly saw the light of day coming closer.

"Raise your torches high!" Azog hurled. "Let this arrogant vermin out there know we're coming!"

They passed without stopping in front of an opening to the outside; it surprised the prisoner, who, nonetheless, made his mind work at full speed, trying to find a plan that would get him out of this mess and spare Thorïn what his enemy had in store for him. Unfortunately, he was running out of time; it was hard to follow the movement as Azog, whose only hand was still holding him firmly, forcing him to move hunched-over, was moving fast and going back up the corridor with giant strides. Fili did not want to be dragged to the ground like a sack, even though his present situation was actually not far from it. He tried to keep his feet on the ground and follow the imposed pace (although to tell the truth, he did miss a step out of two!). He looked up to see the growing brightness of the outside, straight ahead. When his enemy dragged him to the top of the tower, in full light, and pulled him on his feet, Fili knew his life-time was definitely coming to an end. With a quick glance, he scanned his surroundings, hoping against all odds that no dwarf was around. Unfortunately he saw exactly what, above all, he had feared to discover: his uncle was standing below with Dwalïn and the Halfling and all eyes were fixed on him. At that moment, Azog let go of his clothes and grabbed him by the neck before raising him from the ground and brandishing him like a common hunting trophy, as he had once waved king Thror's head on the battlefield.

"This one will die first!"

A nerve pinched in the formidable grip of the pale orc, and paralyzed, Fili gritted his teeth so much it might have broken, so as not to cry out in pain as his cheeks flushed in humiliation: death is something to which all those who have chosen the way of the warrior are prepared. They know it can occur at any time and they value life even more passionately. But to die _like __this_! Caught like a rabbit in the hunter's grip that is going to break its spine! Fili would have very much preferred to die in a battle, like his ancestors did before him. That was his only real regret – of everything that had led to this fateful moment, he had nothing to deny.

However, it appeared that Azog was not so much in a hurry to finish him:

"Then the brother, and then you, Oakenshield!"

With contempt, the albino dropped Fili to the ground.

"You'll die last!" he shouted again, turning to the other side of the frozen river, where the two dwarves and the hobbit were standing, helpless.

"Kili!" Fili thought.

Terror overwhelmed him. And he forgot everything else. Of course. Azog felt such hatred towards Thorïn that he did not only want to see him dead. He wanted to make him suffer.

But if it was too late for himself, Fili thought, white with fear as he was thinking of what might happen to his brother, it was still possible to save Kili! His face haggard, he searched his uncle's eyes and shouted:

"Kill them!"

He did not see his younger brother, standing at the door of the tower, who had lifted up his dark gaze to him and whose face was contorted by fear. He only looked at his uncle, who had raised him and loved him as a father, and saw him make a slight movement of denial. Damn, why was he standing there not doing anything?

"Kill them!" he desperately shouted again.

Did Thorïn not understand that for him, no matter what happened, it was over? He was already as good as dead; he had to think about the living!

He did not see the mortal blow coming. Azog's blade struck him from behind, cutting off his spine and spinal cord, and then piercing his lungs and heart.

The pain was as searing as it was brief. The young prince's body stiffened under a spasm of agony. He opened his mouth, but no scream came out.

When the pale orc, with a brutal thrust, threw him into the emptiness, Fili was already dead.

His lifeless body fell like a stone and hit the ground, dozens of meters below, his big blue eyes open to eternity, staring at the sky without seeing it.

**Te be continued... **


	2. Kili

**Chapter 2: Kili**

Incredulous (such a horrible and abominable thing could not _possibly_ be real_),_ Kili had seen his big brother get thrown from the top of the tower and his lifeless body crash with a sickening noise in the courtyard just before him. This filthy sound of breaking bones and flesh bursting under the force of the impact made him feel nauseous; it lurked at the back of his ear and settled in his brain. Kili instinctively knew that he would hear this noise until his last moment, and perhaps even beyond! He knew that it would haunt his nightmares and endlessly roam at the edge of his consciousness.

He would never be able to forget it.

Rage and despair suddenly overwhelmed the young dwarf with a force he had never known, never suspected. A wild beast sneer curled his lips, a low growl rose from his chest and a red veil fell over his eyes. His hands clenched on the hilt of his sword, Kili rushed forward. Hatred and fury roared together within him and gave him wings.

He would eventually feel the pain, he knew that, but that would be for later. In all likelihood, it would not be any less violent than what was driving him at this moment, and it would probably break him like a wisp of straw but he did not care! He could not care less about what would happen later. The only thing that mattered was the smouldering rage that was burning his soul and devouring his heart. His enemies fell under his blows like ripe wheat scythed by the ploughman. Kili had always been a good swordsman, in addition to being an excellent archer, but the violence that was driving him at this moment gave him an almost supernatural force.

He had not heard the words of challenge and contempt that Azog had flung at Thorïn together with his nephew's broken body. Or rather, he had heard them but his brain had neither understood nor recorded them. Anyway, even if he had understood them, it would have changed nothing.

At that moment, fury and thirst for revenge mastered Kili so much that he had the indistinct feeling that he could have gone through the stone walls. This Azog monster had lived only too long. For too long he had been corrupting the world with his filthy presence and his foul stench. It was time to put a final end to it. The blade of his sword was moving as fast as lightning bolt, and Kili, enraged, kept striking, again and again, relentlessly. To exterminate the orcs, to wash Middle Earth of this repulsive and devious breed, that was the only thing that mattered!

He did not see Tauriel, far below, fearfully looking up at him, as he was fighting at the top of the tower. He did not see her rushing towards him as fast as her long elven legs could go. In that moment, the thought of Tauriel and even her memory had disappeared from Kili's mind.

He felt nothing, heard nothing, and thought of nothing. His mind was empty; it was only a white smouldering blaze, which took no real part in what was going on. His well-trained body was moving on its own, his arms were tirelessly striking and his sword was whirling. Do not think. Not now. Confusedly, Kili knew that when he stopped fighting, when he allowed his brain to work again, reality would bring him down. And it was out of the question. He could not afford that. Not before he had destroyed all this vermin and torn Azog's heart, or at least what was actually in its place, from his chest! Kili promised himself not to kill him before that; he wanted to wave his heart under his eyes and make him eat it!

Suddenly, through the uproar that was filling his ears, he thought he heard… a call that… He automatically turned his head, just for a second, but it was impossible, wasn't it? _She_ could not be here!

"KILIIII!" Tauriel shouted again, with a high pitched voice, terrified.

This time, there could be no doubt left! The young prince came back to consciousness, a shiver ran through his body and he turned his head again:

"Tauriel!"

His heart suddenly filled with this exhilarating feeling, more powerful than anger, he had whenever he saw her or thought about her. But…? What was she doing here? He thought she had left with the fair-haired elf, the woodland king's son or something like that... So she was back? And she was looking for him? At that moment, Kili thought he heard her scream again… in pain!

He did not hesitate – he gave up the fight and rushed in the direction of the sound, killing the orcs that stood before him with renewed fury. He came running to the drama location and saw something that felt like a whiplash and immediately stirred up his fury: his dear Tauriel was struggling with a positively monstrous orc, a mountain of flesh, a colossus! The latter had just projected the young girl on the ground and was approaching her with his huge spear raised above his head, ready to deal her the fatal blow. Kili was standing above him. He did not hesitate, not slowing down a bit – he jumped down, landing on the orc's shoulders and, as he would have bridled a horse, he applied the blade of his sword against the orc's throat before tightening with all his strength so as to crush his windpipe.

It was a terrible mistake.

This trick, which Dwalïn had taught him, had no chance of success on such a muscle mass. Kili had strong arms, to be sure, by drawing his bow and wielding his sword over the years; however, in this case, they still did not have the necessary muscular power. Bolg raised his arms and torn him from his shoulders as easily as he would have dislodged a kitten, projecting him far away. Kili's head almost hit a dilapidated staircase, but fortunately for him, he had always been very lithe! He avoided the impact by stretching his hands, then rolled forward and was on his feet in a wink. Bolg was already swooping down on him. Kili seemed totally insignificant next to this mass of flesh, but he still fought bravely. He sparred with him several times until the orc took advantage of a breach to punch him in the face. Stunned, the boy lost his balance and the fight at the same time. His sword slipped from his grasp and rolled on the floor. As easily as he could have bent a blade of grass, the monster forced him to lean backwards on the partially crumbled banister and raised his weapon above him. This was the moment Bolg preferred: the few seconds that come before the killing. When the enemy realizes he is lost, and sees his own inevitable death ready to strike him. The delightful moment when the intoxicating taste of victory is combined with the equally exhilarating flavour of the enemy's defeat.

Tormented by fear, Tauriel got back on her feet, not even knowing how and, in her turn, leapt on Bolg's shoulders to hold back his armed hand. Without releasing Kili, the colossus bent over, raised his hand and got rid of the elf as easily as he had done with the dwarf, as easily as if he was chasing a bothersome fly. Tauriel went flying through the air and roughly rolled on the ground.

Time seemed to freeze.

The moment crystallised, like an eternity bubble.

For a second, both the torturer and the victim remained so still they looked carved in stone. A weird image of frozen violence.

The young elf, her face bloody, her body worn-out and her eyes stretched by suffering, tried to make an impossible effort to stand up again, outstretching her arm as if she could, with this simple gesture, prevent the inevitable.

Then Bolg struck Kili. His weapon was in proportion to his size and resembled him: it was massive, huge and monstrous... The tip of his spear, which was able to pierce even the hard bones of an Oliphaunt, got through the young dwarf's chain mail as it would have gone through a lump of butter, and sunk into his chest, smashing his rib cage on the way. Tauriel wanted to scream but her voice got stuck in her throat.

"No..." she hissed.

It was all she was able to emit.

Kili did not scream. He felt his ribs break and the edges of the spear tear him up and destroy him from the inside, ripping and tearing his flesh and organs on the way, with such a force that the brutality of the blow shaded the pain. His body retained it but his nerves gave no information, probably numbed by the force of the blow. Kili had a jolt of agony, followed by spasms that he was barely conscious of. His lungs torn to shreds, he was suffocating.

He turned his head towards the elf and their eyes locked, mingled and merged. In this final moment, Kili even forgot, for a few seconds, Fili's broken body crashing at his feet.

Bolg seemed to take great delight in their last exchange. He gave the elf a pleased look, while still maintaining his opponent bent in half. The intensity of the look exchanged by the two of them made it even lovelier. The she-elf obviously cared for this ridiculous dwarf kid, who had been reckless or stupid enough to think he was capable of confronting him... Unless he had been blinded by his beloved's eyes of course... Anyway, both offered him a double pleasure!

Kili's huge dark eyes stayed fixed on the elf's green ones while his mouth was filling with blood and life was flying away from him.

"I'm going to join Fili..." he thought.

A small part of him felt that this was not surprising. Hadn't he and Fili been inseparable forever? However, it did not comfort him. Regret overwhelmed him and cruelly burned his soul. What he saw in Tauriel's eyes proved that he could have… that there _should_ have been something else... that his short life was ending in his spilt blood whereas it was only about to begin. Happiness had been within his reach. Happiness had green eyes and red hair. So many things to do and share. So many promises. Clear mornings and starry nights, laughter, joy given and received. Love and friendship... so many things... And contrary to Fili, contrary to all his family he would join sooner or later in the eternal forge of Aulë, the father of his race, the boy knew that elves and dwarves did not and would never share the same afterlife. Eternity would separate him from Tauriel more surely than any obstacles of life.

A tear rolled down his cheek and Kili died, taking with him the image of his beloved in his ancestors' vast halls of expectation.


	3. Thorïn

**Chapter ****3**: **Thorïn**

Knocked over by the blow, Thorïn was lying on the ice, precariously holding onto life with all the strength in his arms. Towering above him, Azog was crushing him with all his weight. His dreaded razor-sharp double blade, which replaced his right hand and looked like a metal crab's claw, was gradually drawing closer to his opponent's chest, while grating unpleasantly against the edge of Orcrist, Thorïn Oakenshield's last defence against death.

_Advancing towards the albino, holding his elven sword firmly in his hand, Thorïn had a flashback of Fili falling to the ground, his body broken. Yet he forced himself to hold back his grief and anger even, deep inside him. He forced his own heart to become frozen. In order to fight and win this battle, he __could not indulge in any kind of feeling__. That would come later. He had even suppressed his concern about Kili's fate. Thorïn had barricaded his heart and focused all his attention and faculties on the battle._

Death... The heir to the throne of Erebor had seen too many fights and given too many battles to fear it. Well, not this kind of death, anyhow. Since all dwarves must die one day, his wish had always been to fall in battle. However, he was appalled to think that he may be killed by the hand of the Defiler. Him, of all his enemies! That this repulsive creature may win the final victory was an unbearable idea. All the more so as it meant that Thror and especially Fili – Fili! _His_ Fili – would not be avenged! And it meant that Kili and all the others including Dis, his sister, who was still able to conceive new heirs, would remain in danger! Thorïn's impetuous blood furiously bubbled in his veins. Never! That would not be. Whatever the cost!

_But he had made a serious mistake thinking that this vermin had drowned in the ice-cold water. And of course, all mistakes must be paid…_

Thorïn quickly made up his mind. He would have to grant the pale orc what he so ardently had wanted for many decades: to kill him. Yet, he would not triumph; the dead would be avenged and the living would be safe.

It was an acceptable option. Somehow, Thorïn was grateful to the invisible forces of fate for having given him that chance.

He slightly bent the blade of his sword, so as to be certain that the enemy's double blade would not pierce his heart. He did it so carefully that Azog, who was already savouring his victory at hand, took no notice of it. Then, in one fluid motion, without delay, he slid Orcrist out of the "pincer" formed by the artificial limb.

It was… horribly painful! Thorïn felt his flesh collapsing and the dreadful points piercing his chest and lungs, one after the other, sinking deep into his breast and drinking his blood. But at the same time, he stretched his right arm and pushed his elven sword deep into the pale orc's side.

The latter had not seen the blow coming. Nor had Fili, at the top of the tower, when he had been stabbed in the back! The pale orc leant back with a jerk, letting out a strangled rumbling noise. Flexing all his muscles and ignoring the blood that was gurgling in his lungs, Thorïn threw him off balance and pushed him aside. He had anticipated the action whereas Agog still had some difficulty understanding what was happening and how the moment of his triumph – the moment he had been waiting for so long – had so dramatically reversed!

He fell heavily, the elven sword burning his bowels as if it were driven by an inner fire. Thorïn summoned up all the energy he had left in him to sit up straight, while removing his sword from his opponent's flesh. He made a small effort to straddle his enemy so as to give him the very last blow: he raised his sword and plunged it in Azog's heart up to the hilt. Thorïn put all his strength into it, all the love he had felt for the dead and all the love he was still feeling for the living. He put everything he had left into it! So much so that the sword not only went through the pale orc's heart and chest but sunk in the thick layer of ice on which he had replaced his enemy, pinning him down. The blow was so violent that the albino could only open his eyes wide, still incredulous, before expiring. Azog had never considered his own end. He had only been defeated once, the day he had lost one of his arms, and he was sure that this would never happen again, although he could not deny feeling a certain amount of fear towards Thorïn Oakenshield – he fiercely refused to admit it, however, even deep inside him. How did it actually come to this? How...? He died without having found the answer to his question.

Thorïn wanted to take a deep breath but the pain pierced through him like a flash of fire and the taste of blood invaded his mouth. His blood flowed a little quicker from the double wound from which his life was escaping.

He felt dizzy, his muscles gave way and he weakly rolled to the side. Yet, in a last surge of pride he still managed to sit up straight even as his body was ready to give up: he would not die beside this monster!

Thorïn made a superhuman effort to stand back up, despite his multiple injuries and his chest which was pierced like an old barrel letting the air escape in a disturbing hissing, and despite his stabbed foot that hurt like hell – he was the king of dwarves, he would not drag himself about, he would not crawl! He forced himself to forget the pain to not even limp and, step by step, feeling the blood running down his back and on his stomach, and especially feeling death winning him over, every second, he moved away from his finally defeated enemy and headed for the edge of the cliff scalloped with ice by the frozen waterfall.

He wanted to look at Erebor one last time. Erebor he had so ardently longed to reclaim. His kingdom. He had not had much time to enjoy it, unfortunately... Or rather, he had not even enjoyed it at all. But Thorïn was happy nonetheless. He had to die here, it was his fate. The Lonely Mountain had to be his tomb. It had to be this way, and he could not imagine a better place to rest in eternal sleep. Home. At Last.

As for this part of the matter, it was all fine.

He regretted very much not to live to witness the rebirth of the great kingdom of dwarves, but at least he knew it would happen. The horizon was clear, now. It probably had to be this way – after all, those who win the battles hardly ever rebuild afterwards.

Standing very straight, Thorïn reached the edge of the abyss and, a veil already covering his eyes, looked below. The orcs were flowing back from everywhere. The victory was achieved and Azog was well and truly dead this time. This time he would not return. It was a huge weight off Thorïn's mind.

Relieved, the King under the Mountain gave up the struggle. His legs gave way beneath him and he fell. He could distinctly hear his blood lapping in his lungs, as they were filling up. He had trouble breathing and now that his mind had nothing left to focus on, he was beset by all the pain. But it would all end... it was only a matter of moments.

A shadow came between him and the sky, and he saw, not without astonishment, the upset face of the hobbit, who was leaning over him:

"Bilbo!"

For a brief moment, Thorïn's fading eyes lit up with a last sparkle. He had not had time to apologise to the Halfling, whose arrival had concurred with Fili's death, and he was happy to be able to do it. He would have been dismayed if Bilbo had thought that he was dead damning him! They had parted on angry words, words that the hobbit did not deserve.

"I wish to part from you in friendship..."

Thorïn paid no attention to the frantic words Bilbo was stammering. He had too little time ahead of him and was anxious to say what he had to say. This suddenly seemed of the utmost importance to him. He would not have time to say farewell to everyone but at least Bilbo, whom he had treated harshly during their adventure more often than not, had to know what he really thought of him. Already, everything was becoming blurred before his eyes. The pain was crushing his chest. It took Thorïn a huge effort of will to see it through, even his voice was lacking.

The Halfling's clumsy hands vainly bustled about, moving his bloodied clothes aside... Bilbo had a blow to the heart. He had never seen injuries like this one, since he had never been on a battlefield, but he did not need that to be aware of their seriousness. The chest was pierced in two places, and deeply for that matter. It was not even bleeding so much, on closer look, but it was worse, because it meant that the bleeding was ravaging his insides.

"No, no, no!" he stammered, terrified.

He could not believe that this was actually happening, that Thorïn was dying there, almost in his arms, and he could do nothing about it! That he could not hold him back! It was not possible! As if losing Fili had not been cruel enough! (Bilbo, as well as Thorïn by the way, was not aware that Kili too had fallen). No way!

"Don't you dare!"

Thorïn smiled. A smile that was already not entirely of this world anymore.

Bent over the dying Dwarf King, his voice barely audible as it caught in his throat, Bilbo whispered, his lips almost touching Thorïn's ear:

"Thorïn, look, the eagles... the eagles are here..."

But Thorïn was no longer hearing him – his eyes, lost in the unfathomable, had become fixed. Bilbo was neither a dwarf nor a warrior, and the last thing in the world he cared about at that moment was his dignity, so he burst into tears and wept shamelessly.

Sitting on the ice for a long time, and without feeling neither the cold nor his numbed limbs, he bitterly wept over his dead friend.

For Thorin Oakenshield had ceased to be: his indomitable heart had stopped beating. His fierce and proud soul had left him. And already the world looked darker.

**THE END**


End file.
